


Tangerine

by reclav



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Eventual Romance, Gen, Injury, Roommates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:07:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26215366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reclav/pseuds/reclav
Summary: Two Dunmer find themselves in an unusual situation.
Relationships: Male Dunmer Vestige/Male Dunmer Vestige
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i ship my EU and NA dunmer together so i wrote smth abt it... i have more ideas so im going to make this a multichapter whahahoo

"You're in my bed," the mer points out unhelpfully.

"No shit," Fes mutters, blood slowly oozing out of the wound in his side as he tries to mop it up with a rag.

"You're bleeding on my sheets." 

"They're my sheets, prick, now help me or get out of my room."

The mer's eyes narrow, but he sits on the edge of the bed, and a hand cover's Fes' as he applies pressure to the wound. 

Through his blurry vision, Fes can make out a proud, sharp face. A strong brow, scarification cornering those rich red eyes. His nose and lip are pierced, and so is his right ear, with silver jewelry. His hair is pulled back into a tight tail, and the two braids that frame his face are expertly done and tied with ragged twine.

The stranger is also obviously wearing the armor he's stolen off of a body, the way the shirt is too big under the jack and his gauntlets are on the last hole of their straps. His hood is a faded black, as if its been out in the sun for too long.

But he's handsome, and Fes isn't about to pass up an opportunity for a handsome man to lay his hands on him.

Fes hisses as the pressure makes more pain bloom up his ribs. He got lucky this time, managing to hobble back to the inn and slip past all the drunken revelry without someone trying to get his pants off. The mer's fingers are gentle as they hold him steady.

"Have you cleaned it?"

"Yes. Now are you going to help me or not?"

"Patience." The stranger clicks his tongue and eases Fes up slowly. "Let me help a touch." 

He puts his hands over the warm skin, and mutters something under his breath. Fes takes note of this- clearly not a well practiced magician, but knowledge of a healing spell meant he was at least some kind of student of the arcane.

Fes feels the familiar twisting numbness in his flesh as it knits itself together, and the bleeding stops enough for the stranger to remove the rag and pick up a small jar of poultice from his kit. It smells bitter, but freshly made.

With the same steady hand, he applies it over the wound, the dark green herbs layering on smoothly, minced and mashed fine enough that the bandage, as he wraps it around Fes' torso, goes on smoothly. 

"There. Now, explain what you're doing in my room."

Fes humphs. "It's mine. Innkeeper said I could have it."

"How strange," he replies. "She said the same to me."

"Well," Fes continues, "I haven't anywhere else to go. I'm sure as hell not going."

"Neither am I."

They narrow their eyes at each other, and Fes' fingers inch towards his staff, as the stranger's hand creeps to the dagger strapped to his thigh.

But then, Fes unwittingly lets lightning crackle in his palm, and the stranger realizes he doesn't have the speed to pull anything off.

"It could be our room," he stutters out quickly. 

Fes is pleasantly surprised by this turn of events.

"Oh? Explain." Lightning sheathes his arm as the stranger begins to sweat.

"Well- you and I can both stay here. We can divvy it up for privacy, and I have the feeling we won't run into each other often."

"What makes you say that?"

"I'm an adventurer, I guess. So're you, aren't you?"

"Maybe."

"Oh, please, how else would you explain the sticking you got in your side?" The stranger rolls his eyes. "Besides, doesn't do us any harm to have each other for company."

Fes considers this.

He shrugs with his limited mobility.

"Fine. Guess we can share the room. What's your name, anyways?"

The stranger smiles triumphantly. "Folks call me Nim."

"Fes," he grumbles, and lays back down on the bed, rolling over to his unaffected side, pulling up the sheets to his chin.

Nim nods, and sets down his pack and supplies on the rickety table, avoiding the human skull sitting in a bowl of tangerines. He leans his bow against the corner wall with his quiver.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Fes."

He looks over his shoulder to see Fes fast asleep already. Healing spells always took it out of some people.

After taking off his armor and his shirt, he toes off his boots and tosses them into a corner of the room, drained.

Nim uncorks his water skin to take a sip, and peels a tangerine as he props open the window to watch the people of Ebonheart mill about.

The sun's gone down, but the city still bustles with commotion, and downstairs, the drunken revelry begins like clockwork.

Nim sighs, and tosses the peels out the window into the backyard of the Ebony Flask. 

The tangerine is sweet and fragrant, and once it's done, Nim wonders if another one couldn't hurt.

He decides against it, watching Fes sleep instead. 

He was small, leanly built. His muscles came from swinging around a hefty staff like no problem, and his legs looked powerful. He didn't have a soft face, but it wasn't as sharp as his own. His lips were a bit thin, and his left eye seemed to droop, probably due to the jagged scar crossing over his right eye, across his face, to his left cheek. A marvel he didn't lose his sight.

Nim yawns, it was getting late, and he'd analyzed his new roommate enough.

Only there was one problem- there was only one bed.

He sighs, and takes the blanket draped over the foot of the bed. It's a cool night, and there's a sweet breeze through the window, smelling like the fresh springs uphill from the city instead of the marshy, brackish Argonian quarter.

He puts the blanket over him as he sits in the stiff wooden chair, there'd be hell to pay, later, and closes his eyes.

Maybe they could sort out a better sleeping arrangement in the morning.


	2. Chapter 2

It's been a week since Nim has been to Ebonheart.  
When he comes back, there's a big eared kitten on the bed, and a menacing looking metal throne taking up a corner.  
"What the fuck," Nim whispers to himself. He readies himself to grab the bow from his back- the throne radiates an evil energy that makes him quite ready to hop out the window or start attacking it.  
Then the kitten jumps from the bed unto the throne, curls up in the seat, and falls asleep.  
He sighs in relief. By the Three.  
He looks around the room.   
Fes had obviously done some interior decorating, and by interior decorating, cramming everything he could find into the tiny room.  
A small painting of a jungle hangs crookedly by the door, a Khajiit crescent moon rug is crumpled up by the foot of a Redguard style chair. The table has been swapped out for something more formal, but still out of place, with its Altmer design. Banners of unknown emblems line the wall opposite the bed, and the only sources of light are two paper lanterns in the Hlaalu and Redoran style.  
B'vehk.  
The throne is really just the comberry on top.  
Nim sighs, and unpacks his bag. He was tired, and he wasn't planning on moving along anytime soon. Clearing out Kwama mines and cultists had him exhausted.  
He pulls out the tattered parchments that he's found deep in caves and off of marauders and pirates. Some are bloodstained, others stained with Seht knows what, and others are faded a near perfect ivory white.  
He sighs, and kneels down to open the coffer at the foot of the bed, shoving the papers in, and slamming it shut as best he could.  
Clearly Fes was a more avid map collector than he, as the damn thing couldn't even shut anymore. Nim groans, and tries to cram the lid down with vigorous force and effort.  
He's sweating and cursing, face hot the whole time, he doesn't hear the door creak open and click shut behind him.  
"Having trouble?"  
Nim shouts, scrambles to turn around, and looks up at the source of the voice.  
Fes is smirking down at him.  
"Thought you were a rat, damn near was about to kill ya."  
Nim stares at the mer with wide eyes.   
He was nothing short of intimidating now.  
The shadow cast on his face from the window makes the scar on his lit up side seem like one of the foyada's cutting across Vvardenfell's land, his eyes fiery and hair sleek and shiny. Nothing like the mer he was treating two weeks ago.  
His armor, Redoran style, is ebony black, the decorative brocade fabrics a rich purple he's only ever seen on nobility. A great horned helmet is under one arm, and a cruel shalk mandible staff in the other, crackling faintly with sparks.  
If Nim didn't know any better, he'd assume Fes was some wicked apparition, the ghost of some great general or battlemage.  
Nim feels quite small under his gaze, in his thin leather armor. One bolt from Fes' staff, and his tiny body would be blown to cream corn.  
"Well, whatcha looking at? Get up, if you're done down there." Fes puts his helmet up on the coat rack next to the door, and begins unbuckling his cuirass with practiced movements.  
Nim feels a bit bowled over still by his presence. Clearly Fes was no ordinary adventurer compared to him.  
"I was just… well, you cut a very imposing figure."  
"Do I?" Fes asks, as his armor drops to the floor with the dull clinks of metal fastenings against toughened chitin and leather.  
"Yeah," Nim says, mouth dry.  
"Good." Fes smiles over at him as he peels off his undershirt, and mops the sweat from his chest. "Was gonna ask you if you wanted to hit the bathhouse together, it's looking to be a hot night, and I think I still have ash in places best left unmentioned."  
"You went to Vvardenfell?"  
"Where'd ya think I got all this kit? 'Course I did. Probably crawled into every fucking hole there is in there to get some of this, save Vivec's."   
Nim almost makes a noise of disgust. Fes notices it.  
"What?"  
"Have some respect!"  
Fes shrugs. "I respect 'em as much as I do any other king or queen. Blast me to bits if I care, I don't." He kicks off his boots and starts working on his greaves.  
"Don't you have any faith?"  
That seems to darken Fes' chipper mood.  
"I got faith." He glares at Nim.  
Nim realizes this is a subject best left unbroached.  
He stays quiet, sitting on the stone floor as he watches Fes get undressed.  
He doesn't even realize he's staring until Fes looks back over to him.  
"Like what you see?" He gestures to his lean figure, and Nim looks away in humility.  
"Not in that way. I just-sorry."  
"It's fine. Anyways, we're going to be seeing more of each other later, if you wanna tag along to the bathhouse."  
Nim squirms.  
"Are you sure that's-"  
"It's a bathhouse, Nim, not the brothel we're living in right now. C'mon, let's get moving." Fes pulls on a clean shirt and trousers from the cupboard, and finds the worn leather shoes he has stowed under the bed. He pulls them on, leaving his trousers untucked. The collar of his shirt is open, unlaced nearly all the way down to his midriff, and Nim can see the graceful curve of his collarbone, and the thin hair on his chest, on display for all to see. Sure enough, Nim can see a few little flakes of ash trapped in his chest hair, and he can almost laugh.  
"You're still staring."  
Nim scrambles to his feet.  
"Yeah, yeah-I mean, no-I mean, I'll come with you. I don't think I've bathed since I set out for Ebonheart."  
Fes manages to smile. "Vvardenfell has lots of nice places to stay, when you're not getting swooped on by cliff striders. But I guess you know what the mainland's like."  
"Are you not from Vvardenfell?"  
"I'm an Ashlander, I'm as native to the land as it gets." Fes watches as Nim peels off the leather armor and sets it down carefully, and once Nim has put on some threadbare shirt and breeches, he puts on the only pair of shoes he owns; his ragged rawhide boots.  
Fes eyes them not-so-subtly. He looks like he's about to say something, but shakes his head.   
"Right on, let's go." He smiles and ushers Nim out the door, the mer looking much less put together than him.  
Nim feels self conscious about being dressed so poorly next to Fes, but he guesses it's better than nothing, or the sweaty underclothes he's been dwelling in for the past week or more.  
The bathhouse is partially empty, it being only past noon and most people opting to bathe at the end of a long work day.  
It also means the water is hot, and the thought of steam clinging to his skin makes Nim want to sprint into the bathhouse at full speed.  
He restrains himself though, as Fes checks them both in, and they're each handed a token to wrap around their wrist. This time, a strand of twine dyed green. They put their belongings up in a cupboard, and undress in the room before the baths, divided just by a thin paper screen.  
Nim feels self conscious again, but it's quickly abated as he wraps a towel around his body. Fes however, doesn't seem to care at all. He simply tucks the towel under his arm, and sets it down on the stony floor, before he slides into the small bath.  
"Come on in, the water's fine," he calls to Nim, who is watching with trepidation.   
Nim lowers the towel from where he has it wrapped around his chest, and lowers himself into the water.  
He tries not to let out a little yelp as he feels his foot brush one of the large, porous mushrooms commonly kept in bathhouses to filter the water. That always unnerved him, even after living his whole life in Morrowind. He looks over at his companion.  
Fes sighs as he sits on the stone ledge of the bath, and closes his eyes as he lets the warm water close over his head as he submerges himself completely.  
Nim gingerly lets his hair down, combing his wind braids out with his fingers, and he watches Fes as he reaches for the bucket with the soap and sponge next to the bath. He starts scrubbing at himself with vigour, and Nim can't help but watch as his graceful body twists and turns, covered in soapy suds that get trapped in his chest hair. His body is littered with scars, the newest of which is the one on his ribs, the one that Nim helped treat.  
It's a dusky pink amongst his dark, black pearl skin, and the water makes it gleam wetly in the soft skylight pouring in from above.  
Nim feels a bit warm and lightheaded the more he looks at Fes. Soapy water runs down his broad hips and toned rear, and Nim has to force himself to avert his eyes.  
Fes flexes, cracking his back, and Nim feels… something stirring and a familiar rush of heat to his face, at the sight of his muscles working under his skin, especially at his long dark hair clinging to his skin, beaded with moisture.  
Nim scrubs himself fiercely, and gets up quickly. He shrouds himself in his towel as best as he can, blinking away the water from his eyes.  
"Where're you going?  
"I… I'm going back to the room. Thanks for everything, but I-I-" Nim stutters, hunching over himself, "I forgot I had something to do."  
Fes has his hands on his hips, and Nim feels his pulse quickening at the sight of his strong and lean body, his fierce eyes, his hair sticking to his temples in ebony strands.  
"Alright, well… I'll catch up with you then," he calls after Nim, who is already running off to the changing room, and collapsing against the cool stone wall with a sigh of relief.  
Nim gets dressed, fumbling with his buckles and buttons and laces, hopping on one foot as he gets on his other boot, then finally stumbling out into the lounge, and out into the street. His hair is still wet and dripping, and he probably looks a bit mad, but despite his body being the cleanest it's been in days, he doesn't feel clean at all.


End file.
